


don't get me wrong

by calcelmo



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:22:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24631495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calcelmo/pseuds/calcelmo
Summary: During their U.B.C.S training, he and Tyrell shared a room. They got along okay, but they weren’t exactly best buddies. Come to think of it, Carlos wasn’t best buddies with anyone, because the atmosphere in that place was tense as shit. You kept your head down, followed the rules, and collected that sweet paycheck.That was before Carlos walked in on Tyrell jerking off toFreshmenmagazine. That was definitely the most awkward moment of his life.
Relationships: Carlos Oliveira/Jill Valentine (implied), Carlos Oliveira/Tyrell Patrick
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	don't get me wrong

**Author's Note:**

> I have a million other projects I'm supposed to be working on but my writer's block is so bad. So I wrote this instead. There's a criminal lack of Tyrell fics around. Fix it !!
> 
> Comments are deeply appreciated!

It takes days before it hits him. Tyrell is gone. 

After Raccoon, the days passed in a blur. He put the chopper down somewhere in Arklay county, mentally high-fiving himself for pulling off such a decent landing that Jill actually looked surprised. 

It was weird, because they had a lot of banter, so nothing really sank in at first. It took a few gruelling days of mountain navigation before they reached civilization. A phone box in their case. The CIA was all over them. There was never a time to stop and think about what happened.

Until now. 

When he came to and saw Jill and Nicholai facing off on the rooftop, he’d known, deep down, that Tyrell didn’t make it. His whole chest had seized up, a harsh pain that had him hyperventilating and pressing his hands into the concrete to ground himself against the onslaught of grief. In the present, he feels an echo of the hopelessness he pushed down in order to save their asses. 

“What are you thinking about?” Jill asks. There’s a softness to her voice she doesn’t use much, and it prompts him to blurt out the truth.

“Tyrell,” he admits.

She leans back, nodding slowly. “He was your friend.”

_ Friend.  _ It’s not really the word that would come first to Carlos’ mind, but in retrospect, it’s true. Over the years, he and T got to know each other pretty well. Like all the mercenaries, their histories were steeped in violence and combat since childhood, but he and Tyrell had seemed different to the rest. They’d maintained a scrap of their humanity- the spark that lets you keep laughing and joking and loving, despite the shit you’ve seen. Where the others revelled in torture and bloodshed, the two of them stopped each other from crossing those lines. 

“He seemed like a good guy,” Jill adds, in response to his silence. He hides his smile. She’s trying her best and he appreciates it so damn much- Jesus, fuck, but if she hadn’t been here, he would have gone crazy. 

He thinks about it. 

Was Tyrell really a good guy? Shit, is  _ he himself _ even a good guy? He’d like to think so, but the things they’ve done, and worse, what they’ve done it for-  _ who _ they’ve done it for- Jill can’t know the half of it. The kind of thing that keeps you up at night, wondering if Hell is real, because if it is? You’re number one on the guest list. 

Part of him wants to talk about it, talk about Tyrell and everything along those lines. Jill’s right here and she wants to hear him. But he’s not stupid enough to turn her off by dropping his five-year, clandestine gay affair with his dead brother-in-arms into the conversation. And aside from the endgame of getting the girl- it also feels private, and sensitive, and not something he can share with anyone else. 

During their U.B.C.S training, he and Tyrell shared a room. They got along okay, but they weren’t exactly best buddies. Come to think of it, Carlos wasn’t best buddies with anyone, because the atmosphere in that place was tense as shit. You kept your head down, followed the rules, and collected that sweet paycheck.

That was before Carlos walked in on Tyrell jerking off to  _ Freshmen _ magazine. That was definitely the most awkward moment of his life.

“Uh-”   


Tyrell cleared his throat. “I thought you had a date.”

“She didn’t show up.” Carlos squinted at the cover of the magazine Tyrell was using to cover his dick. “Dude, is that gay porn?” 

They kind of stared at each other for a good few seconds, before Carlos started to crack up, half because the situation was so embarrassing, half because it was so fucking hilarious. “You just… you just finish what you started,” he said. “I’ll be… back in fifteen.”

After that, everything was chill. They didn’t talk about it at all, apart from Carlos quickly setting out that he didn’t care that Tyrell was gay, so long as he didn’t creep into Carlos’ bed in the middle of the night, or take candid nudes of him when he was in the shower, or something equally homo. 

Well, that was ironic. And kind of offensive, because if anyone was breaking boundaries, it was Carlos. 

At first, he convinced himself he didn’t give Tyrell’s sexuality a second thought. He was the pinnacle of progressiveness, he was a gay rights activist, he had never used a homophobic slur in his LIFE. But lying to himself got old. Sure, he didn’t think being gay was a bad thing. If another guy wanted to jerk it to pictures of other guys, who was he to judge? 

That wasn’t really the issue, though. The issue was that he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

‘It’ being... gay sex. Tyrell’s massive gay dick. 

He went to the gym to take his mind off it, threw himself into training to the point where he came top of the class most of the time. The other guys called him a tryhard. 

None of it was working, seeing as after all that, he had to go sleep in the same room as Tyrell. Lying awake listening to him snoring and thinking about how different a dude’s ass would feel to a girl’s pussy. Just out of curiosity. And did Tyrell prefer to fuck or get fucked? Hypothetically, if they were gonna have sex, would Tyrell expect him to be on the bottom? Would Carlos even  _ mind? _

Honestly it was getting unbearable. And Carlos wasn’t a coward. He went after what he wanted. He was just trying to figure out if he really  _ did _ want to do gay sex with his roommate. He’d never had any weird thoughts about guys before. He wasn’t repressed or anything like that, he just knew what he liked- beautiful women. Specifically beautiful women who could also crush him. That was besides the point.

“T, do you get any ass around here?”

That was the magnificent pickup line he eventually settled on. Tyrell glanced at him over his glasses, raising an eyebrow, asking silently if Carlos was messing with him.

“Like, are there any other gay guys around here?” Carlos clarified, wishing the floor would cave in underneath him.

“Why, you looking to hook up with someone?” 

“No, no,” Carlos laughed awkwardly. “I’m just looking out for you, man. Blue balls sucks ass.”   


_ “Blue balls sucks ass.” Nice one, Oliveira.  _

Tyrell shifted up from where he was cleaning his rifle, setting it back in its case. “No,” he replied. “I mean, there probably are other gay men here. But they’re not televising it. You gotta be careful about these things.” 

Carlos nodded. “Right. Okay. Well, you have to understand-”

“Mm-hm.”

“That I am so straight, man. I love pussy so much.”   


“Right.” Tyrell’s voice was completely deadpan.    


Carlos nodded again, internally kicking himself for acting so dumb. He folded his arms and stood his ground against the cringe. “But, obviously, I feel sorry for you. And I’m open to trying new things. So, yeah.”

Tyrell looked at him, and the bravest thing Carlos had ever done was keep that eye contact. So they just kind of shared this innocent look, the seconds went by- and then Tyrell said, “Cool,” and went back to cleaning his gun. 

Carlos felt like a total dipshit. He was real quiet for the rest of the day, eating his meal silently without his usual loud, obnoxious wisecracks that made him famous in the mess hall. None of the other mercenaries asked what was up with him, and that made him even more depressed, because the only person who  _ would _ give a shit, he’d just propositioned- in the dumbest way on record. What the fuck was he thinking? ‘Tyrell likes men so that must mean he wants a piece of  _ my _ ass?!’ Damn.

Carlos went up to his room early, hoping to sleep his shitty mood off. He opened the door and dropped his keycard. Deja vu to the max, his immediate reaction was to turn around and walk back out, flushed with embarrassment. 

But he also had a boner. Because Tyrell was lounging on his bed with no uniform on, smirking, and it was hot, it was really hot, Carlos didn’t care anymore. He’d admit it. Tyrell was fucking hot. 

Without going into too many details, the sex was awesome. It was different to sex with a girl, because Tyrell took control and showed him what to do. The whole time he felt like the FBI were gonna bust in and arrest him for touching another penis, but that just made him bust a faster nut. T was great. They joked around, they made each other come, and then it was business as usual. No weird atmosphere between them. Carlos was on cloud nine, like he’d ticked ‘gay sex’ off his bucket list.

And it happened again. 

A few weeks later, again. Months before they saw each other after being put on separate assignments- and then again. 

So followed this pattern until Carlos realized he couldn’t put it off as experimentation any more, because the experiment was over, and the results said ‘You Like Dick’. By that stage it wasn’t exactly groundbreaking, but still. He liked to think of himself as a ladies’ man, except he hadn’t had sex with a lady in a whole damn year.

They weren’t dating, they both made that clear. Friends with benefits. But of course, Carlos slipped up. 

Raccoon City had turned into a fucking hellscape. Dead bodies reanimating and dragging themselves through the streets, sinking their rotten teeth into anything with a pulse. Carlos had watched so many men die. Men he’d known for years, their flesh torn from their bodies by these crazy zombies. There were several moments when he didn’t know if he was gonna make it. And even when he did find shelter, he had no idea if there was anyone else left. 

He was starting to question whether any of it was worth it. They’d been trained to deal with this kind of shit, virus outbreaks and subduing Tyrants, but nothing could prepare you for the true horror of it all. All this death, driven by greed. Money had always been a motivator in his life- having grown up so poor, it was hard to resist. But at times like this, money was the farthest thing from his mind. 

He found Mikhail at the subway, with a few other mercenaries from their platoon. Frantically, his eyes sought out Tyrell. He wasn’t there.

Mikhail gave them instructions on getting the train moving again, and Carlos blindly followed them. His mind was completely elsewhere. He never even got to say goodbye. They worked in complete silence, because they’d all lost someone, and the reality of the outbreak left them in low spirits. 

Hours later, Tyrell stumbled down into the subway, covered in blood. For a moment, they were frozen, staring at each other. Then Carlos whooped and tackled him to the floor. Mikhail said “shut up and get on with the job”, but he was smiling.

He didn’t get his chance to tell T how relieved he felt that his buddy was still alive until they found themselves in the police station. Tyrell was all business, get the job done, don’t let anything rattle you. But Carlos was still riding a high, and he put his hand on Tyrell’s shoulder, turned him round, and kissed him. 

He didn’t think about what it meant. Tyrell went kind of still for a second, before one of his hands went to curl in the hair at the nape of Carlos’ neck, and the other splayed possessively at the small of his back, pushing them closer together.

“I’m glad you made it,” Carlos said hoarsely. He was shit at romance, but just then he was really feeling it. They made out some more, pretending like there wasn’t a zombie apocalypse happening in the background. Then Tyrell broke it off and told him they had a job to do, and they’d finish this later.

But they never did. 

Carlos never cries. He doesn’t actually think he has the ability any more. He hasn’t cried since he watched soldiers line up his family and shoot them one by one. But if he could- he’d be crying right now. No one’s going to go to Suriname and tell the Patricks that their son is dead. No one’s going to bury him, and there won’t be a grave. 

“We were pretty close,” Carlos says. It’s the understatement of the year and it makes him feel worse, that he’s too afraid to admit what they  _ really _ were. He sounds sad enough that Jill puts her hand on his knee. He stares at it, frowning slightly.

“Really close,” he whispers. 

Jill leans forward to try and catch his eye, and reluctantly, he meets her gaze. Whatever she finds there, it makes her hand come up to cup his face, and she gives him this terrible, pitying smile. It says,  _ I am so, so sorry.  _

_ Me too, _ he thinks. And he only wishes they hadn’t been so preoccupied with keeping it casual- that he’d worked up the courage to kiss Tyrell before the day he died- and then maybe, it wouldn’t feel like they’d wasted so much time.


End file.
